


Dusk over the Horizon

by Angeltigerdragon



Series: Dawn of Heroes [1]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League - All Media Types, Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, M/M, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-24 13:18:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angeltigerdragon/pseuds/Angeltigerdragon
Summary: Superman is dead. Superman is dead and ghosts do not exist.Bruce Wayne is alive. Batman is alive and vowing to keep his word.And then remnants of a dead man make him happy.And then that dead man walks out of his grave.





	1. Kansas Darkness

_Clark Kent. Kal-El. Superman._

Bruce wrote the names down on his legal pad. Each name attributed only a fraction of the man; the farmboy turned journalist, an alien the last of his kind, and the god who tried to save the world or at least contain the fire. Bruce sighed and leaned back in his chair. It was one of the few days he did not venture to the cave below his lake house. Dick had called earlier to make sure of that and besides it was beautiful. Although, Bruce felt gutted from the inside.

He glanced at the names again. Each a small fraction of a man he barely knew in life, but became intimately aware of in death. Bruce gasped and closed his eyes. Alfred had left his pills with his lunch. A tomato and mayo sandwich.

Mrs. Kent had introduced the stange combination to Bruce.

                _“It’s his favorite.”_

Bruce inhaled sharply. He took his pills dry and left the legal pad.

*

The insipid fool he played for high society did not bleed into his real life. And for that, Bruce liked to think he led no delusions about himself. He had delusions or visions. He still recalled a man in red spandex speaking to him out of a shining light.

                _“The key….Bruce….the key is…….do…fear him…find us Bruce, you have to find us.”_

That dream or vision had been real. The deserted world, but he’s only a watcher. The man in the light warning about Clark and a key. Granted, he could not hear him well. A lot was left unheard; Bruce looks out at his lake, the serenity of the woods.

He likes to believe he cannot lie to himself. He has for years now. However, this one, this one is the cruelest. This lie he has told himself for months, almost a year, is going to cost him. It humiliates him and holds him back. It destroys his hope, but that is not new. It is now the only thought keeping him awake at night.

Bruce watches the clouds float by on a beautiful. He rips the paper from pad. Tosses the crumbled mess into his garbage where three identical ones lie for Alfred to pick them up.

He rubs the palms of his hands on his closed eyes hard. Bruce leaves his office. He will not go into the cave, but he can hide in his room.

Bruce closes the curtains until the windows do not show any light. He undresses in the dark practiced from years on night shifts. He lies in bed naked if not for his briefs. Bruce wraps the cotton thread count like a cocoon surrounding him. Buries his face into the fluffed pillow.

Here, he can pretend that the world does not continue outside of his room.

It works for an hour, and then he returns to the gutted feeling from earlier.

The problem is when he does come to acknowledge the lies and delusions there is no distraction. Villains, terrorists, and being Brucie are not enough for his mind to warrant sufficient filtering for this revelation. He goes back to the names on the legal pad and his heart skips a beat.

                “Clark,” he whispers into his pillow.

* * *

 

**One year earlier**

After the funeral, Mrs. Kent invited him and Diana over to the house.

Lois had seen them.

It was not right to be in the house of the man he killed-Diana told him to stop saying that-but Bruce felt welcomed. Mrs. Kent offered to make them sandwiches and Lois stoically avoided being alone with Bruce and Diana. Mrs. Kent talked amiably with them on pleasantries. Bruce held up the illusion he knew Clark from interviews and events. Diana could claim to just being his date.

Lois sat and listened, plugging gapes of anything that seemed out of place.

Before Bruce could try to leave the day had gone. Dusk appeared and he thought, _This is what he saw. Every day of his childhood._

The flat land gave the bright sun more strength than ever in Gotham. Bruce watched, eyes protected by shades, as the hues changed from golden to purple and navy. Diana saw this too with awe on her face.

                “He loved to watch the sun go down,” Mrs. Kent said. “Jonathan and I would sit with him on the porch and countdown. He said he felt happier.”

She started to tear up again and thankfully Lois took primary in comfort.

Bruce in his head started the countdown until the world was in darkness, his domain. And with it the knowledge that he took away a mother’s son.

#

**_For a few months_ **

As a way to assuage his growing guilt and help Mrs. Kent cope, Bruce took it upon himself to visit Smallville at least once every month and call Mrs. Kent during the week. For the first few months, he found himself there every weekend. Mostly for Sunday dinners.

Mrs. Kent spends the first talking in pleasantries and Bruce tells her pleasantries; superficial and tactful.

Bruce is the one to break the ice.

                “You can talk about him,” he says as Mrs. Kent hands him coffee.

She pauses in her seat. She breathes and it seems tension erodes from her shoulders. Mrs. Kent looks at Bruce and he sees a woman on the edge of breaking.

                “I know,” she says. “Clark would want me to.”

Bruce waits. Three beats and she begins. The stories are short and she cannot get through them. It takes them a few sessions, eventually Mrs. Kent opens up and the stories are less stringent.

They become anecdotes of Clark’s adoption.

_Jonathan had a friend who worked for social services. He made the papers real._

Raising an alien baby.

                _And when he flew out of the crib, I screamed. But what went through my head was that he could bump his head on the ceiling._

His childhood.

                _He never had a close friend. The only one who ever tried was Lana Lang. I think she’s married now. I…I wish we could have given more._

Adolescence.

_He was arrested twice. All for Lana. Oh, he had such a mouth on him at that age. He and his father fought like dogs. It lessened after Jonathan showed him his cradle._

Bruce listened to everything.

 

He stopped bringing wine and took Alfred’s advice on pies or lemon squares. It was not long that Mrs. Kent inquired about him. He told all he could afford. And she insisted on him inviting Alfred. Bruce later denied the hesitance he had about saying yes.

Alfred came and he became a quick third on these outings. And Bruce had to share the stories. He denied the sick feeling that roiled his chest after that realization.

*

Lois Lane was another he visited. She knew who the Bat was and she was a reporter. When Bruce went to visit her, she did not answer the door. He waited for two hours intermediately knocking. Lois opened it and Bruce saw the hidden tear tracks under blush and the bags covered in eyeshadow.

                “Come in,” she said.

Bruce did. The apartment was packed. The counter was full of boxes and the walls were bare.

                “Clark’s things.”

She did not offer him a drink or a seat. Bruce imagined this is what he expected of Mrs. Kent that first time. Lois threw a small velvet box that he caught in mid-air. Bruce put in his pocket.

                “These.” She gestured to the whole room. “I can’t look at them. I can’t just uproot him….but I need to stop crying. I’ve been crying. Every night. For months and it won’t stop. I-I’m hollowed. We had so much, so much….it’s gone. He’s gone. I can’t look at his shit!”

She kicked a box labeled SHIRTS.

                “If you’re here to apologize don’t bother. But, if you can…please take this away.”

                “Everything.”

                “Yes.”

The next day Bruce had movers take the boxes to his lake house. He honestly did not know where else to put them. The boxes belonged to an alien. He gave a fleeting thought to calling Mrs. Kent, but she had enough to remember him. Bruce knew because he had spent a night or two in Clark’s bedroom.

* * *

 

**Another few weeks**

This hobby-not obsession-had started innocent. Bruce looked through the boxes and found some interesting items. Clark used the same soap as him _Irish Spring_. He liked John Denver, which was not a surprise. He also had a collection of chamber music and operas. He stopped there and borrowed _The Trout_ album.

And it did not progress much from there. Bruce would search in the boxes one at a time for any signs of incrimination, but it was slow. He had other things to do. Diana had given him the drive back and told him about one of them, the man in the water. That he visited a town in winter.

Bruce spent his days searching for the other two.

The man in the convenience store video was easiest: Barry Allen. The other was harder. The files showed that Dr. Stone’s son had died in a tragic accident. Bruce had known the grief of a father and where it can lead in bargaining.

These things needed time and even though danger was coming, he just knew, he had time. So, when the world did not Bruce Wayne and Batman had an easy night he found himself scouring the boxes.

                “You know, sir, looking through the dead’s things is considered bad luck,” Alfred had dolled.

Bruce shrugged. It was…nice. Clark and he actually shared some tastes. The books ranged from philosophy to science fiction classics. The same issues as Bruce, but more worn out. Probably from thrift stores and indie bookshops. One he was surprised to find was “Slaughter House Five”; Clark seemed the more classical type like Mary Shelley or H.G. Wells. With a smile that almost gave Alfred a start, Bruce added the books to his library. The albums were in his office.

Soon, the lake house gained a new resident.

Bruce unpacked all the boxes, excluding clothes, and added to his still house the remnants of one Clark Kent. During this time he found the journal; leather-bound and small, tucked away between in the blankets that had been his from a box titled MISC.

From it, Bruce had a better understanding of the man Clark had become. The journey that led him to become Superman. Bruce did not hesitant to read it. He did skim the pages when Alfred caught him reading the first few pages in whole. He sheepishly put it down to Alfred’s disapproving frown.

However, he gathered that Clark spent his years away from home trying to find a place to belong. That he felt like a monster. That he tried to kill himself once. Bruce read those pages in whole. The journal skipped years and months in between an entry. It seemed Clark used it when he needed to vent. Bruce sighed. He understood the loneliness Clark hid in himself.

From the pages, Bruce saw that though Clark was the light he had been in the shadows just as long.

 

Like before, this had started innocent. These thoughts of what Clark would have liked or how he might have found something funny. How he and Alfred would have nursed Bruce back to health. How he would talk about saving kittens for little girls. What he would like for dinner.

Bruce did not find them odd until he noticed that his refrigerator stocked up with corn and pork chops.

                “Alfred, when’s the barbecue?”

                “It was on the list,” he yelled from the den.

Still, Bruce let it be. At that time, he had a lead on Dr. Stone’s son from Amanda Waller. Arthur Curry, the man in the ocean, had been tracked by Diana.  She told him he had to be the one to approach him.

The dreams. The dreams were when warning flags flew.

They were not sexual-at first- just nice things. Clark smiling. Clark handing him coffee. Clark laughing with his mother. Clark sitting at a desk typing. Clark kissing him.

Bruce denied it. He lied to himself. He deluded himself.

One day, like others, he found the negatives of photos. It was odd to him because all of Clark’s photos were developed. Bruce had Alfred get them done. Upon receiving the package Bruce opened it to pictures. Featuring a shirtless Clark.

He did not get look at the rest. Bruce dropped the package on the coffee table. He felt warm and breathless. And that is when the dreams became sexual.

* * *

 

**Present**

Bruce closed his eyes and inhaled deeply into his pillow. There was no distraction anymore. In a few days he would be heading out to Greenland in hopes of finding Curry, but nothing stopped his dreams.

*

**Sometime later**

Bruce stands at Clark’s headstone. This is not the first time. It is one of many that he has stood in front of the one good man he wronged and wondered about him. This is one of the rare times he is alone. Martha comes along and sets fresh flowers at the gravesite. She does the same for her husband. Alfred comes too and brings scotch to share. Martha has a high tolerance.

Bruce looks at the headstone. The encryption is simple: Clark Kent, parents, beloved, lived, died. Nothing extraordinary like the man had been. Plain.

                “You deserved better,” Bruce says. “That funeral they had for Superman was meant for you too. It should have been, but then your mother couldn’t visit you and she would have to compete with all those other flowers.” Bruce sniffs. “Dick said our secret identities are more than hiding. Their supposed to give us a life. I think it’s sophomoric, but that’s Dick. Jason…he….”

Bruce groans. He digs his nails into his scalp. He glares at the headstone.

                “I didn’t want this.” Bruce walks to the headstone and touches it briefly. He walks away. “I didn’t want to feel this. You died. I knew for what ten minutes, an hour maybe? I wanted to kill you!” Bruce snickered. “You wore that awful tweed. And those glasses. Hehe, why did I not see you?”

Bruce looks heavenward.

                “You’re not a monster. You’re not a freak. I’m sorry for destroying you.”

He looks at the headstone.

                “And it doesn’t matter.” Bruce sniffs, holding back the prickle in his eyes. “But, you need to hear this. The League is ready. We’re small, but we can keep this world safe.”

Bruce bends and touches his knees.

                “And this won’t make sense. I can’t be crazy, but I am. Clark, you’re dead and I’ve fallen in love with you.”

The ground shakes. Bruce stares and backs away. Clark’s plot is erupting and the ground shakes under Bruce’s feet. A hand, Clark’s hand, emerges. Bruce freezes as the body crawls and struggles out of the grave. The creature, no, Clark pulls himself up. Dirt and decay lace his suit and hair. His is pallid and his eyes sunken. He gasps for breath and claws away from his hole. He stands, wobbly, and his unfocused gaze lands on Bruce. Bruce is frozen.

A ghostly hand grabs him and tugs him in the direction of the house. Bruce cries silently as this resurrected savior takes him.


	2. To Assemble Broken Pieces

**The Second-Winter**

The trip to Greenland is quiet. Bruce has the only seat in the plane. He decided to go commercial and use one of his aliases: John Smith. Alfred helped him apply the wig that morning before he left.

They land and Bruce rents a red car. He drives the small vehicle to the capital, Nuuk. From there, he finds the equipment needed for the journey and a good price on Icelandic horse rental.

*

The journey is long and his guide leaves him at one point. The man explains that no one visits the village at this time of year.

                “The King visits,” is all he said.

Bruce nods and continues alone. The wind picks up as he travels with his horse. The weather is fair, so far. He rides until he sees the hills evening out and the ground is less cragged. He gets off to get blood flowing. Bruce stops his horse and sets it down upon the hills. If all goes well, then he can send it back with the word that the guide taught him which lets the animal know to return. If it went to hell, then he had a ride back. He looks at the small fishing village below. Bruce treks down the hills careful of the snows slippery form. He reaches the bottom close to two and starts his walk.

 

Pubs, bars, restaurants. The perfect places for unintentional reconnaissance and hide out. Everyone absorbed in their own world as they eat and enjoy good company. That is where Bruce waits for Arthur Curry. Aquaman.

He orders vodka on the rocks and does not flinch at the stares of the locals to his strangeness. A stir happens, but Bruce knows better to stay put and let things happen. The door is kicked open. Light shadows the shirtless man who carries an inebriated fisherman on his shoulder like a bag. The man is dark toned with blonde locks cascading down his shoulders. He holds an air of regality even in his half-naked state. He throws the fisherman off his shoulder.

                “I’ve told you,” he says. The room listens. “No man can fish when I’m here. The waters are mine and the bounty is yours after I leave.” He picks up a discarded bottle of amber liquid. “This is on him.”

                “You are the one to bring that bounty,” Bruce says.

Curry stops. He looks to Bruce.

                “You come on the king tide,” Bruce says. He stands from the small table near the bar.

Curry stares at him.

                “The king tide was last night.”

Curry comes to him and sits. He does not offer anything.

                “Talk.”

A demand. Regal is the word.

                “My name is Bruce Wayne,” Bruce says, returning to his seat. “I’ve come to recruit individuals for a team. There is a war coming from far away.  I’m building an alliance for defense. You and others like you are a key component to this alliance. This team.”

Curry lifts his chin up. Bruce looks and notices for the first time that Curry has a hook hand.

                “Because the god alien was killed.” Curry sips from the bottle.

Bruce feels cold. It seeps in his spine to his chest. Curry sees. How? But he sees.

                “No,” he says. “Your world is poison to “others like me.” I live in the sea and I knew that alien meant no harm to us. That bat,” Curry sneers. “That murderer killed him.”

                “It was another monster,” Bruce chokes. “Created by Lex Luthor. You can’t—”

Curry grabs and slams his head on the table. The hook hand slides gently close to his neck.

                “Do not believe me simple-minded. I know of the creature. For it has been felt in the waters. I also know that a man tried to kill a god. There is little of the land I care for, Mr. Wayne.”

Curry lets go. The bottle is lifted and he pours on Bruce’s face.

                “You are looking for the wrong people, Mr. Wayne. Find those who care. Those who do not know the nature of man’s cruelty. They will follow anyone.”

He leaves.

Bruce gets up and cleans his face. He shakes, not from the cold.

* * *

 

He calls Diana. Tells her about Arthur Curry’s words.

                “I was afraid he would know.”

                “How?”

                “His people are attuned to the waters. The waves and pulls carry stories with them. We fought near the water. I’m sorry, Bruce.”

                “It’s fine.”

                “I can talk to him.”          

                “Are you sure?”

                “I understand him. I know his people. They are as ancient as mine own. It will take some time, but I think I can get him to listen.”

                “That’s good. But you, I, and Allen have to talk to Dr. Stone first. I think he’ll be…less open than Curry.”

                “You’re welcome, Bruce.”

They hang up.

* * *

 

**The First-Fall**

Central City existed modestly. It had a rich history of work and renewal, good jobs, upstanding scientific breakthroughs, and boasted one of the best burger joints on Travel Channel. However, if you were to be asked about it you would say its nice but none too interesting. That is what Bruce hears others say. Central City is one of the land lock cities that has a decent population, but not overcrowded, and a bit of a homey feel. What it lacks in modern advances (Metropolis) and dark secrets (Gotham) the city makes up for in friendly chatter among strangers. That is how Bruce finds himself observing Barry Allen ordering  hot dogs while sitting on a bench. The woman adjacent to him smiles openly, no suspicion, and offers him bread for the birds.

                “No thank you,” he says.

Allen dumps mustard on five hot dogs and sauerkraut to top the mustard. Bruce figures it must help with the accelerated speed that Allen must burn more calories than the average human.

                “Oh, that boy,” the woman says sweetly.

                “You know him?” Bruce asks.

                “Not personally, but we’ve talked. Unlike some people, he’s taken the time to feed the birds,” she says, mock scorn in her voice.

Bruce feels a sheepish grin play at his lips.

                “I swear he’s going to burst from all the food he eats. Oh, to be young and foolish.”

She looks at herself. She is not fat, but certainly has spent years sitting down more often than not.

                “He’s a kind spirit, but I think lonely. Doesn’t mention any family.” She dusts the crumbs off her pale blue dress and stands. “I need to get home. And young man,” she says to Bruce, who smiles at being referred to in such a way. “Try to get some fresh air. I mean to say you look troubled. It might be good if you met that boy.”

                “Maybe,” he says.

The woman sighs and turns. On the way, Allen sees her and waves excitedly. Bruce cannot help but see him with a tail and floppy ears. The woman waves back and blows him a kiss. Allen catches it and puts it to his heart. A charmer. Bruce huffs.

                *

The room lights up and Allen stops short.

                “Barry Allen,” he says from the lumpy chair. “Bruce Wayne.”

                “And that’s supposed to explain why some guy's in my second favorite chair.”

The kid backs away, ready to flee. Bruce stands to look at the monitors. The room is messily constructed, with things strewn everywhere. He sees…Superman’s symbol. On the wall next to a yellow lightning bolt.

                “Whoever you’re looking for, it’s not me,” Allen says.

Startled from his gazing Bruce throws a bat-shuriken at Allen. Light illuminates around the body and all Bruce sees is the shuriken flyng; Allen is two inches back from where he had stood, awe-struck, holding Bruce’s weapon.

He looks at Bruce like seeing him for the first time.

                “You’re the Batman,” he states.

                “So, you’re fast,” Bruce answers.

                “That feels like an oversimplification,” Allen states.

He is wired. Bruce can tell. Makes him think of Dick after a successful patrol. Jason was…He had been more somber, like Bruce.

                “I’m putting together a team.” Bruce walks to Allen. “People with special abilities. See I believe enemies—”

                “Stop right there. I’m in.” He says with a goofy smile. So much like Dick. In fact, Bruce is sure Allen and Dick are the same age.

                “You are? Just like that?” Bruce asks, incredulous.

                “Yeah, I…..I,” Allen looks around, avoiding Bruce’s eyes. “I need friends.”

                “Great,” Bruce says.

                “Can I keep this?”

                “Never.”

* * *

 

We got one, BW.

Excellent, DP.

* * *

 

**The Third-Spring**

The heat hits Bruce like no other. Gotham’s springs tend to grasp her winter longer, but here, in Oklahoma, the cool breezes are a relief to the dry air and sunny skies. Barry hops down the plane, Diana in tow.

Upon returning from Atlantis-yes, Atlantis-Diana has informed him Curry wishes to challenge her with three tasks. Bruce has yet to ask what they would be.

The trio find Bruce’s Bentley awaiting them at the end of the stairs. Allen is vibrating with energy. Small sparks glisten on his body. Bruce nudges him. Allen calms but his enigmatic smile never wanes.

                “Sorry, but-Holy shit! A private jet and now a freakin’ Bentley. What next? Fancy resort with tiny umbrellas and towels worth more than my whole apartment.”

Diana smirks, bemused. She likes Allen, despite his cheesy pickup lines. Although, the comments have become less obvious after she kicked his ass. Bruce smirks too. Dick would get along with Diana too.

They get into the car, luggage carried by the flight attendants. When done, Allen looks at Bruce sheepishly.

                “I never asked,” he says. “What is your power?”

                “I’m rich,” Bruce deadpans.

*

They drive from Tulsa to Guthrie, a small town nestled in the middle of nowhere. Bruce memorized the files Waller gave him. Batman made sure to scramble the rest of the digital data on Waller’s computer before burning the original copies. The ride is silent for the most part; Diana and Allen briefly argue over the music. Bruce settles it by playing Elton John station on XM. By “Crocodile Rock” they have reached the outskirts of Guthrie.

Bruce pulls up to the small apartment housing. It is past four in the afternoon and he watches as Dr. Silas Stone parks his Subaru. He grabs his things quickly and hurries to the door. He looks over his shoulder often. Bruce hums. Waller did not tell him they had made attempts.

                “This may be harder,” he says.

                “Why? Also, is that the guy ‘cause he’s kinda old…” Allen clicks his teeth.

Bruce ignores the indignation. Silas is only eight years older than him and Bruce, well, he looks good. And his knees are doing better. His back still strains, but what’s to be expected after having it broken.

                “No. That’s Victor’s father, Silas. Victor must be up there,” he says, pointing to the third floor.

                “How do we approach?” Diana asks.

                “I don’t think he saw us, so we can knock on the door and see how it plays out.”

The two stare at him. Bruce shrugs.

                “I frankly don’t know any other way. This man is on guard already because he’s expecting strangers.”

*

It was the fourth floor that held Silas and his supposedly dead son. Bruce knocks first, Allen and Diana flanking him. He thought friendlier faces would help. The door creaks open to the hidden face of Silas. He has bags under his eyes and grey in his stubble. He looks older.

                “Can I help you folks?”

Diana starts.

                “Hello sir,” she smiles. “We are here to talk to you about a great opportunity. My colleagues and I are sta—”

The door slams shut. “Go away!”

                “Guess we don’t get to act,” Allen says. He places his hand on the door knob. It vibrates and soon falls off. Upon opening the door, the trio duck as a gun is fired. Thankfully, it has a silencer so no one in the hall comes out.

                “I said leave,” Silas shouts.

Allen runs in light trailing after him. In seconds, the gun is out of Silas’s hand and taken apart. Bruce and Diana enter, closing the door. Bruce holds up his hands.

                “Dr. Stone, we don’t—”

                “No! You’re not taking him. You’re not taking my boy.” Silas scrambles to the door of his bedroom. Allen grabs him. The door is ajar and an eerie glow emerges.

The next minute breaks hell. A robot, like the ones in science fiction, comes out. He punches Allen across the room and grabs at Silas. Diana takes out her rope and lassoes it at Silas outstretched hand. It catches and she pulls. The robot does not lax on its hold. Silas holds his ground.

                “Stop!” Bruce yells.

The room quiets.

                “Diana, let go.”

She does. Allen gets up from the couch where he landed and rubs his cheek.

                “Ouch, ouchie!”

                “Get ice,” Bruce tells him.

                “It’s in the right door.”

The robot speaks. He sounds so young. The face plate opens halfway. It reveals the face of a young man, no older than seventeen maybe, with cropped black hair. His left eye is the red glow of the machine. Muscles and tendon intertwine in the asymmetrical body of a cyborg.

                “Thanks,” says Allen. He has a bag of frozen peas pressed against his face. “Hell of an arm. You play sports?”

                “I did,” says Victor, wistfully. “Quarterback for the Gotham Renegades. I had recruiters come see me in the last game of the season.”

                “Cool. I never played sports. Not really a big guy on rules and red tape. I did like PE, even if I got more balls to the face than most boys.”

This makes Victor laugh. The sound is natural; his voice has not been affected by what’s happen to him.

                “Vic,” says Silas.

Victor stops. Bruce wants to hear him laugh again.

                “Get back in the bedroom. These people were just leaving….”

                “These people are here to offer a chance for your son,” Diana says.

                “No!”

                “Dad….”

                “I told them no. Victor is not a weapon, he’s a human being. You won’t take him.”

Despite the obvious, Silas stands in front of his son, shielding from these invaders.

                “Dad,” Victor whispers. “I don’t think they’re the same people.”

                “Back in the bedroom!”

                “I have a son,” Bruce says. They are losing control. He needs a familiar ground and this…Dick is the only thing he can think of at this moment. “He’s named Dick. He went to Gotham Academy, probably graduated a few years before you got there. One of his friends was Brian “Bulldozer” Rogers. I think his championship picture’s still in the case at the school.”

                “He was my idol,” Victor breathes. “I saw him with my uncle at his last game.”

                “Yeah, well he and Dick still talk.”

Victor is star struck, unaware of the play Bruce has laid. Silas, however, glares viciously at Bruce.

                “Brian’s not in sports anymore,” he admits. “He’s moved on to working on missions. He’s a pastor now.”

Victor listens aptly. How long has he been away from the world?

                “He’s the best in my mind,” says Victor.

Silas relaxes a fraction. “By now, they would be shooting at me. But, seeing as you haven’t and…” he looks at Allen. “You can talk. Then leave.”

 

A couple of hours, they are back in the car.

                _If you need me, just call. I’ll be there._

A promise from a young man whose life was taken from him; that’s good enough.

* * *

 

**Fall-Present**

Clark tugs Bruce along. He could run; the grip’s not as strong as it should be. He could stop and see if Clark knows what happened. He could hold Clark’s hand. He could touch his face. He could kiss him, finally.

Bruce shudders.

They wade through the dirt and mud. It rained earlier; his shoes will be caked and ruined.

The journey is long and Bruce begins to slow down. He had driven to the cemetery.

Bruce takes a breath and lets Clark lead him. They break through fields of wheat and corn.

He is relieved when they arrive at the Kent farm.

Clark leads him up to the porch as the sky darkens.

He knocks. Martha screams.

                “mom….”

Martha opens the screen door as Clark lets go of Bruce and collapses on the porch.

                “Mom…” he croaks.

His voice is brittle. Martha shakes as Clark leans forward, placing his head on her abdomen.

                “Mom.”

Martha sobs openly and gently pats Clark’s head.

                “The world’s too big, ma. It hurts.”

                “Focus on me, honey. Listen to my voice. Just me and you….”

Bruce backs away, careful. He is not part of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Aquaman's appearance from the one in "Justice League" because I am more familiar with that one. And, for Barry Allen I think he will be like the Flash Wally West version. I made Cyborg high school age again because I will be basing his personality more on the "Teen Titans" version. Also, sorry if chronologically it is confusing. I am not good with timelines. Basically, Bruce wanted to find them all before approaching them. It took longer to find Curry and Victor, so he has time to be Batman and fall in love with a dead man. When he has everything, he goes to Barry first because he's closest. Then Arthur Curry because of winter. Victor is last because Bruce wanted the team to meet the last member and hopefully get Silas's approval.   
> Last, the name of Dick's friend is taken from the Batman Animated Series "Fear of Victory" episode.


	3. Getting to Know You

The first outing-he, Diana, and Allen-is a disaster. They are unfamiliar and awkward. Bruce attributes his cohesion with Diana to their previous battle, but otherwise the trio is wholly unprepared to work together. Allen goes off before he can the plan. Diana uses brute strength over tactics. And Bruce is not better because he keeps all the details to himself. 

Basically, it is a miracle they are not killed by the life-sucking powers of the Parasyte. A new monster in Metropolis. The villains even taunts them and mocks Bruce’s role.

                “Some leader,” he sneers. “You should’ve made this little team when Supes was still around. He would’ve been delicious.”

That’s when they defeat Parasyte, but only because Bruce set the right batarang at the juiced up purple mess. Allen was quick to grab a fire hose as rope.

 

The second outing is not so bad.

By this, Bruce has arranged the dynamics. He has them fight against each other for practice and to understand weaknesses.

And, though Bruce has had partners…..he is still used to everyone taking his word as gospel. Dick had called after the “Purple Panic” the _Daily Planet_ dubbed the fight and told Bruce he needs to be less of a daddy-bat and more of a teamplayer.

                “Because these guys aren’t kids, like me and Jay,” he pauses. “they’re fully grown people with lives of their own. You didn’t train them and you didn’t raise them….” To which the conversation dissolved into the old shouting match as it does.

 

However, Dick is right. Bruce cannot expect these practical strangers to know him and his tactics. That is why not only do they mock fight, but also listen to Bruce explain his mission and strategies. Diana pitches in because she comes from a world of warriors. Allen has more of a technical approach with Bruce’s gadgets, but it helps in the long run, , but they still need to get their legs out first.

So, the second outing is not bad. The trio infiltrate a military base that has fallen off the radar. From there, they encounter shapeshifters. They are able to survive the oncoming battle, but barely make it out. And it is thanks to another miracle: J’onn J’onzz, the last Martian.

This alien already knows the threats of the world and tells them about how Mars became a desolate planet. He is the last of his species. He had a wife and child. He came to this planet by accident when a scientist made a teleportation/ time travel machine that found him. He has spent the years cryo-genetically frozen. He was released by Allen on accident. He shows all this through telepathy after they are safely away.

Bruce swallows hard.

J’onn is different from Superman. And yet, they are the same. Beings without another like them and tossed into an imperfect world. They must fight and hope the race on this planet will accept them.

J’onn looks at Bruce and even with his slanted head and aniridia eyes Bruce sees the harshness and fear in J’onn’s glare. For, what alien will ever feel comfortable around the man who tried to extinguish their god?

J’onn joins. He needs friends, like Barry says.

*

The form J’onn takes is still alien; green skin, but smoother, no rough scales. His eyes are without pupils, but no longer slanted. He has blunt nails with two fingers added and Bruce assumes the same for the feet if J’onn took off his boots. His outfit is exotic to say the least. It covers the genitalia. A speedo type garment. A cape with lifted flaps. An x-shaped covering over his chest.

Bruce wonders if J’onn prefers to be less clothed because his species did not have them. The outfit reminds him of….another’s.

                “Dude, you’re naked. Sexy.”

Allen and Diana look at J’onn. His face gives no outward expression. Bruce can see he’s nervous.

                “I am unfamiliar with the ways of war on Mars, however, do you not believe more covering is needed?” Diana asks, concerned.

                “Do not worry for me.”

The next instant a dragon stands in J’onn’s place. Allen backs off, amazed. Diana is dumstruck.

                “My people are not skilled with combat, but we do not lack certain protection….”

The dragon returns to J’onn’s humanoid form.

                “I only wish we hadn’t lost hope.”

*

The third battle is where they shine. In the public eye. Batman cannot hide in shadows if this team is to succeed.

They fight through the invasion like equals, true heroes. Victor appears, flying in and starts blasting away hordes of Imperium soldiers.

 The telepathy of the enemy the group is protected from by J’onn and the head bands Bruce made from his experience with Mad Hatter. Victor is immune from his half-robotic mind.

Allen can do multiple tasks and keep tracks of the citizens.

Diana’s strength yields back many foes.

The group uses all this to reach the ionized crystal covering the world in darkness; the invaders are weak to sunlight.

The end of the battle reveals the UV radiation and the aliens perish.

The world is saved. Sunshine illuminates the debris and Bruce for the first time feels less weighted.

 

There are concerns by the people. Unchecked power. Meta-humans. Aliens. Freaks.

This is expected. However, Bruce has come up with a way to keep the League in relative safety and out of the world’s government affairs. It takes another week, but the Watchtower is up in orbit.

                “Ah, dude,” says Victor. “This place is hooked.”

He stares in awe at the technology. Allen is at his side, wearing a red suit…..something familiar…..and comments on how the satellite beats his ratty Flash Den. Yes, that is what Allen called the dingy storage room he lived in; Diana walks around, an expression of pure joy. Bruce observes them. He cannot predict the future, but from here it feels like the League will make it.

He stops and sees J’onn staring out the window.

                “What are you thinking?” Bruce asks.

J’onn turns his head slightly.

                “Despite what people say, I can’t read minds,” Bruce answers.

                “I am the last. There is truly no other like me in all this universe. I am unsure of my future.”

                “I know someone who can relate.”

                “You wanted to kill him,” J’onn accuses.

 Bruce does not wince physically.

                “I did. I was wrong. He was a good man and I let my ego and paranoia blind me to that. If…if I could have seen beyond the ruse, beyond the symbol at the man then he would be here. And you would have someone to understand you.”

                “There’s no one waiting for me,” J’onn says. He looks at Bruce. “I will stay. I can make this planet home someday.”

                “I pray it will be soon,” Bruce says.

                “No,” says J’onn. “Not for a while.”

* * *

 

The Justice League begins.

Arthur Curry comes out. The alien debris had fallen into his ocean.

                “I am disappointed the world has not taken care of its own. My people deserve a voice,” he says.

Diana tells him of her involvement in the UN. Curry agrees to see about it. He has not joined, but he seems to be less resistant.

The Watchtower is a haven for J’onn. He spends his days in his true form.

Dick (Nightwing) wants to be a part-time member.

                “Just in case,” he tells Diana. “I’m committed to my city, but those…things got everywhere. Had to call in some back up from Star City. I got them on speed dial too if you guys need more muscle.”

That is how they gain number for Green Arrow and his previous partner Speedy. They also have a woman who goes by Black Canary too.

Bruce approves of this all; the more the merrier.

* * *

 

Several months later, Bruce finds that he needs to stop. Everything.

Jason.

 Jason is alive.

 

* * *

 

**Present**

Martha enlists his and Alfred’s help in carrying Clark. His energy is drained. The two have him upstairs where Martha has started a bath for her son. Alfred begins to unbutton the funeral suit and Bruce leaves. He is not part of this.

He returns to the ground floor of the house. Upstairs he hears the two coddle over Clark. Martha’s voice is shaking.

Bruce wants to go back up. He stays. Clark is being treated by his mother and a butler who has seen his fair share of tattered bodies. Bruce knows.

He stays at the landing of the bottom step. Martha talks and talks. She tells Clark about life. The one he has missed. The one he….

                “Holy shit,” Bruce grits.

They had an open casket. A coroner, who Bruce paid, had given time of death and cause.

                “Holy shit,” Bruce groans. He has killed him. He killed Clark Kent.

*

                “Go see him,” urges Martha. “I think he wants to talk to you.”

                “Have you—”

                “He doesn’t know anything.”

Bruce goes. He slowly ascends each creaky step. A week has gone by and Clark Kent is alive.

The door to his childhood room is open. Bruce pauses and sees through the crack. Clark sits on his bed windows open. Sunlight pours in from all corners of the room. He is at peace. Bruce knocks and as always disturbs the peace.

Clark turns to him. A dubious look is on his face.

                “Mr. Wayne,” he says.

Bruce feels gutted.

                “Bruce is better,” he says, smiling. It falls at Clark’s continued look. “I mean, I have been coming here for almost two years.”

Clark nods.

                “That’s what I’m confused about. Why are you here? We met once at a party. How the hell did you find out about me?”

Bruce gulps. He should have been prepared, but he is not. Everything about this is unprecedented territory.

                “I found out from Batman.” Not a complete lie. He did discover the truth as Batman. “He told me what happened after that monster…Doomsday,” he pauses. “After what happened. Asked me to look after the Kent home. I met your mother and we started up a friendship. Is that so bad?”

                “No,” Clark says. He seems deflated somehow. “I’m sorry. There’s too much missing.”

                “What?”

Clark heaves a sigh. “I remember it. Just in fragments. Like a bad dream. Certain aspects stick out more than others. Meeting you. Meeting Batman. Our fight. The Kryptonite. Lois yelling my mother’s name. It’s details. Details I am having trouble with.” Clark turns his head. He has not shaven since his resurrection. “The last few months, before my…death. I can’t remember them in full. I know what happened. But, the small things aren’t there. The last full day I remember is the day I bought Lois her engagement ring.”

Bruce flinches internally. Stupid. He has the ring. He’s been carrying it in his pocket since Lois threw it at him. Like another way to keep a promise.

                “Mr. Wayne,” Clark says. “Give me back my ring.”

Bruce does without hesitance. Clark opens the velvet box. Bruce looks for the first time at the diamond princess cut. It’s stunning. A wonderful adornment for any man ready.

                “I spoke to her,” Clark says. “She’s happy to hear I’m alive. And she likes her new assignment in Syria. It’s exciting.”

They are broken up.

Bruce feels bile in his throat. His heart skips a beat. More bile.

Clark stares at him. Bruce steps backs.

                “Mr. Wayne,” Clark says it like a question.

                “I-I, uh.”

His heart. Clark hears it. He stares at Bruce’s chest.

                “I think you should leave,” Clark says.

Bruce runs.

*

His lake house is loud. The specter of Clark hovers in the rooms. God, why did he put Clark’s things? Bruce hides in the cave for the better part of the days. It is that or go to the office. Alfred worries. He calls Dick.

                “So,” says Dick. “Superman is alive.”

Bruce keeps typing on the keyboard.

                “That’s some crazy shit. He survived a bomb but Kryptonite was supposed to his one chink. And he came back. I…I can’t even…there’s no words.” Dick rubs the back of his neck. Bruce remembers when he did that to calm the young boy. “Jason had the pit….” Dick stops.

Bruce unclenches his fists. “I can’t explain it. Maybe the nutrients from the soil healed him slowly. Maybe he was never dead to begin with…that’s the less likely one. Whatever it is, we won’t know until the League gets in touch.”

                “Does he know?” asks Dick. He gestures to the cave.

                “No.” And he’s back in the armor, faceplate ripped in half. A spear cutting into an innocent’s face. “No, he can’t remember some parts. I suppose not all of him is healed.”

*

J’onn sits down next to him. The Watchtower rotates and Bruce ignores the Martian for the time being. He has data to double check. J’onn touches his shoulder.

                “I apologize,” he says.

                “For what?”

                “For my assumptions. Telepathy can only go so far. From your memories and theirs I assumed you were not unlike a criminal. That you agreed to this League because of some misguided guilt. I am wrong. You care deeply for this. After years of solitude, you want to do good by all. I see that.”

                “Thanks,” Bruce says. He reconfigures the data again. Allen should not be allowed to do this ever again.

                “Your feelings for him,” continues J’onn. “They are not untoward.”

Bruce does not move.

                “Invite him,” says J’onn. “Let him meet the League. I would like to meet another endangered species.”

J’onn leaves Bruce alone. He breathes shakily.

_The last full day I remember is the day I bought Lois her engagement ring._

Batman can make amends. Batman can control his heartbeat.

Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne will never cross paths again.

               

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have to add more chapters later on. Not sure yet. Also, this chapter is based from "Justice League: Secret Origins."


	4. A Stranger Visits the Lake House

                “Hi.”

                “Mr. Wayne…..my mom thinks I should apologize.”

                “Oh. That’s nice of her.”

                “Do you still have my stuff?”

                Beat.

                “Lois told me. I guess you might’ve sold it or gave it away, but if you have anything leftover…I would like it back.”

                “No apology.”

                Beat.

                “No.”

                “I have your things. In a storage unit. Honestly, nothing was worth much.”

                “Yeah.”

                Two beats.

                “Goodbye, Mr. Wayne.”

* * *

 

A month has passed and no one outside of Martha, Alfred, Dick, and J’onn know the truth of Superman.

Disasters take place, new villains arrive or old villains escape their cells. The Justice League is there.

Diana reports that Arthur (Aquaman) will join once his wife gives birth. She also shows photos of the tasks the king of Atlantis had sent her on. Allen has them downloaded to the data base as screen savers.

Bruce never admits that the one of Diana riding a hippocampus somewhere in the Adrian Sea makes him laugh inside. Victor has all the photos on stream in his personal laptop.

Victor goes by Cyborg and he and Allen are best friends. Victor’s father has given guardianship to them all in case of emergencies. Bruce and his legal were able to bring the boy back to life. Silas visits often, but Victor moved in with Allen. Bruce can understand the sting he had seen in Silas’s eyes.

J’onn looks at him imploring. Bruce ignores him and they continue their work.

Dick comes up as Nightwing and as Bruce predicted, he and Allen are a force to be reckoned. Victor takes to Dick like an older brother.

Green Arrow and Black Canary aid them in the more domestic cases. Gang wars and cartels.

Arrow is a sharp man with a quick wit. Bruce knows instantly he’s Oliver Queen.

Black Canary spares with Diana and they can go for hours at a time.

Speedy, who has changed his name to Arsenal, apparently works with Red Hood.

                “Sorry, Batman,” Nightwing says crestfallen.

Arsenal was vying for information on the new League for Red Hood’s gang, the Outlaws.

                “It was a mistake,” Batman says. “One that won’t be repeated.”

From the corner of his mask, he can see Oliver’s fist clenching on his bow.

* * *

 

J’onn confronts Bruce again in the same manner as before.

                “He should know,” the Martian says. “About us. He has a right to this team.”

Bruce cannot pretend to type.

                “He’s not ready,” Bruce says. “He’s still healing.”

                “You do not know for sure.”

                “Dammit, get out of my head!”

Bruce stands up to walk away.

                “I am not being invasive,” J’onn says. “Your thoughts of him are loud, Batman. They are difficult not to hear. Emotions too run high…” J’onn looks away. Bruce could swear the Martian would blush if he could. “Some of them are very potent.”

                “Clark Kent wants nothing to do with Bruce Wayne.”

                “Because he does not know. If you tell him everything he will come to terms on his own.”

Bruce looks at the aniridia eyes. There is a softness to them.

                “My wife, My’ria’h, was the most beautiful creature on Mars. I was afraid to approach her about my affections so much so that I avoided her at all costs. It was ridiculous. She came to me and said that I was ridiculous and we held hands.” J’onn looked at Bruce. “On my planet, any form of touch is considered intimate.”

                “What are you saying?”

                “Tell him the truth. Let Superman decide what is best for him.” J’onn turns to the console. “I think he deserves that and you need to get this off your chest.”

*

J’onn tells everyone. Of course, the Martian will not let anything be easy for the Batman. Though, he has the decency not to mention Bruce has known. Instead, J’onn states that he could feel Superman’s mind waves because of their Kryptonian origin. All but Diana believe him.

*

                “Who is this?”

                “You don’t bleed.”

                “Batman!”

                “Yes. Your mother was kind enough to pass on your cell.”

                “I can’t believe she kept it….”

Beat.

                “I owe you an apology.”

                “Oh…”

                “Yeah. You and Mr. Wayne.”

*

The Javelin lands smoothly on the open acre of the Kent farm. Bruce unstraps his belt. Allen is already gone.

                “I told you to keep an eye on him,” Bruce says to Dick.

                “Guy runs faster than light.” Dick gives him a look, eyebrows hidden in the domino mask. “Besides, I’m excited too.”

Victor next to them raises his hand for a high-five to which Dick complies. J’onn nods as if to agree with the sentiment. Curry rises from his seat and motions for them to follow.

                “What are we waiting for?”

 

Martha welcomes them with open arms and a lunch of fried chicken, black eyed peas, corn, and sweet potatoes. Diana gives her a bouquet of krokos flowers. Curry hands her a small box of saltwater taffy.

Batman hands her a bottle of Kentucky wine. A bottle of Pinot Noir from Equus Run Vineyard.

                “That’s from me and him,” says Dick with a shit-eating grin.

Allen blushes. “I didn’t think to bring anything.”

                “Company’s good enough,” Martha says laughing.

Victor looks relieved as does J’onn.

                “So,” Alllen intones. “Where’s…”

Martha smirks and rounds this ragtag group toward the table.

                “I sent him to town for some ice.”

                “Mrs. Kent…”

                “Please, Batman. Our little town won’t recognize Clark as anyone. Maybe a drifter…” she says quietly. “And he wore a hoodie I didn’t throw away.”

                “That can fool most men,” says Diana.

                “Mm-hm, now let me get the drinks ready. I still have some ice if any of you want some.”

Just then, a car parks outside. The room turns to the sound. A door opens and feet hit the ground. Pause. Then the feet start walking. The screen door bangs as the one they are waiting for enters.

Bruce gasps silently.

Clark has a beard and his hair sticks out in messy curls. He looks unremarkable in tattered jeans and a faded hoodie. A bag of ice in his hand melting.

J’onn stands and moves.

                “It is wonderful to meet a fellow alien,” J’onn holds out his hand in the peace sign. He then transforms to his original visage. Clark looks at him, nervous.  “My name is J’onn J’onzz, the last Martian.”

Clark smiles and it’s dazzling.

                “Clark Kent.” He copies the peace sign. “Or Kal-El, Superman, bum. Whatever floats your boat.”

The room laughs and they have a pleasant lunch.

 

Outside on the porch, Clark sits on the steps. He has opted out of playing Allen’s game of Monopoly. Batman comes to sit beside him. He looks at Clark’s profile….gorgeous.

                “I…” Clark begins. “I can’t tell you sorry because, uh, there’s just nothing to justify that fight…” He covers his face with his hands. “All I thought of was my mom and that maybe…for a moment I could kill two birds with one stone.” Clark huffs. “Pun intended.” He looks to Batman. The mask is lead-lined. “I was so damn angry at you. You did things. Things that were terrible and extraordinary. You gave your city hope, even if it was at your own expense. I…I’m just the alien. I do anything for good and I am questioned. I show my power and they shoot at me.” Clark sighs. “I abused my power with you. I did. You were only doing what you needed. I never….dammit! I didn’t try to talk to you and I—” Clark groans. “I was wrong and prideful. I let my ego get away from me. I let others judge you. I was wrong and there’s nothing I can repay you with.”

Batman turns his head away from Clark. That was unexpected. Wonderfully blunt and naïve.

                “You are not the only one,” Bruce says. “Luthor tricked us both. I fell for what I wanted to see. You…you tried to get a read on me. Bruce Wayne could have told you the truth.”

                “I gotta talk to him too,” Clark says. He seems to be thinking hard. “I took my anger out on him. He’s not a bad guy. I really owe him for taking care of my mom.”

                “That can wait,” Batman says. He pleads with his heart. “And you can do something for me.”

                “No,” Clark says.

Batman stares.

Clark gets up and stretches. He looks down on Batman.

                “No. I’m not joining.”

                “What the hell?” Batman is perplexed. Confused. Dumbfounded.

Clark crosses his arms and for the first time he looks like Superman.

                “My powers are….out of whack. I can use them, but they’re just not up to speed yet. My control is choppy at best with some and nonexistent with others. External ones are fine. Flight, strength, and speed are all good. But….you get it.”

                “But that’s not it,” Batman says. He stands, letting his cape drape over him, hiding his clenching fists.

                “No,” Clark admits. He deflates again. “I can’t do this. I’m tired of it. Less than a year and they founded programs and weapons to kill me. A whole year and I’m either a god to some or a devil. That’s fucking messed up.” Clark clicks his tongue. “Batman….I came back. I think I was never dead, but I came back…that’s not normal.”

                “Nothing about you is normal.”

                “Yes and this takes the prize.” Clark looks at Batman, distress in his eyes. “I’m not a god. I’m a monster.”

Batman punches him. He punches him and Clark could have stopped it, should have. Clark takes the hit to his face. Batman grunts. It was like punching Clayface if he were brick. Clark does not even reel back. He stands there and waits. For another assault. Batman slaps him and it’s Bruce Wayne who is hitting now. He slaps Clark twice on both cheeks and an uppercut for good measure.

                “Done. ‘cause I think I deserve more,” Clark says.

                “You’re not a monster,” Batman and Bruce Wayne say. They mean it.

A cough alerts the two that they have an audience. Martha stands out with the worry lines etched into her face. Batman thinks he is the cause until he follows her gaze. Clark stands stock-still but resolute.

                “I’m sorry,” he says. “Superman isn’t here. Don’t waste your time.”

                *

Alfred lays down the protein shake Bruce takes after his stretches. Lately, he has not been able to relax. He knows why.

Diana comes over with ideas on how to improve Clark’s health every day. She has been bought into the self-help craze and their Chicken Soup books. Allen asks if he could look into finding a notable psychiatrists; he knows a few from the CCPD. J’onn has….

J’onn has retreated in himself. Victor says the Martian spends hours silent and seems to be in deep concentration. Curry has shown less enthusiasm for the League since the fight at the farm.

That is where some doubt truly entered Bruce about Clark being Superman.

The Man of Steel held against Curry’s attacks and hook. He flew literal circles around the Atlantian, but the fight was rigid. Clark held back. He held back more and when he attempted his super breath the wind nearly knocked the barn down and blew up some crops. Heat vision was worse. Clark could not control the intensity and so the tractor got slip and Curry could have lost another hand. Diana stepped in and manhandled Clark down until he gained semblance of control. A small hole was left in the Kansas earth.

Bruce sits on the lat pull-up and sips his concoctions, as Alfred calls them. The League can survive without Superman. That’s a truth he knows Diana, Allen, and Victor can see. Also, Nightwing’s friends are more than enough for the League to really do some reconnaissance on stealth missions. Even if Curry decided to opt out they are not in trouble.

So, the League is fine without Superman.

No, what Bruce needs is Clark Kent. The man who wanted good. The only man who can help J’onn and Victor feel less alone. The League does not need Superman. Bruce needs Clark in his life. He cannot deny it or lie to himself. To have Clark around in any capacity will be enough for Bruce. Clark would never know unless his vision can see pass lead now. Batman can be his friend and ally. Bruce can hide his feelings better in the suit. Clark will never know and Bruce can have him.

* * *

 

                “I think this is stalking,” Clark says.

Diana sits with him in Pop’s Diner. The grease and grime of nostalgia clashes with the Amazon’s metro-chic look. Allen seems more at home in his faded jeans and Flash t-shirt.

Batman rolls his eyes. Leave it to Barry to have a t-shirt with his own symbol. He watches the live-feed from Diana’s purse artfully angled on the table. Clark’s beard has gotten scraggly. He is wearing his glasses again. He is hidden and still tries to disguise himself.

                “If not for the well-known habits of yours, this would be stalking.” Diana sips her cherry-cola shake. “The waitress, Tina, says you are here Tuesdays for the roast beef special. We simply happen to be here on a Tuesday.”

                “In Smallville,” Clark grunts.

                “Yep. Place has that old rustic feel. And I noticed there’s a lack of Wal-Marts.” Allen smirks.

                “Right,” says Clark. He digs in the smothered roast beef with mashed potatoes and carrots. “And I guess Tina also mentioned the fact that I come at the end of the lunch rush because the diner is a ghost town.”

Batman cannot see Allen’s face well, but he catches the slight flinch. Diana lifts her chin.

                “Of course,” Clark murmurs.

It happens fast. The purse is snatched and the camera ripped out. For a moment, Batman looks directly into Clark’s blue eye. There is a small speckle of green in the iris, maybe a note of his Kryptonian heritage. Not much can be done because in the next moment the camera is offline. Crushed most likely. Like a gnat or fly that bothers you.

*

                “Sir….Bruce….”

Bruce picks up his batarang and runs to Alfred. Bruce checks the perimeter surrounding Alfred in the kitchen and sees that his old friend and Dick are both staring out at something. Bruce briefly wonders about Dick’s presence, but lunges forward in a spring and covers Alfred.

Bruce freezes on sight. He drops the batarang and Alfred, bless him, picks it up.

Outside of the window stands a homeless man.

He looks downtrodden, dirty, and his beard has grown out. Tentatively, the man taps on the window.

Dick is the first to get up and direct Clark to the entrance. Time is syrup then because Bruce watches as Alfred offers Clark a plate of eggs and orange. Dick sits down with him and tells him that he’s a fan of Superman and that he’s happy he is back. The young man is rambling because he has fear.

Bruce feels his body move. Alfred assists. He is at the table with his coffee and toast. Clark has not eaten yet. Dick has stopped talking and rocks in his chair, nervous tension waves off him. Like Bruce, he is better in his Nightwing suit.

                “I worried my mom,” Clark says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know the dimensions of the lakehouse in BVS and then I watched a Minecraft video of it. I guess Bruce would not have an office, but I don't know. This is an AU deal. Also, I will be making this longer.
> 
> I should've mentioned this earlier, but my tumblr is clevermoondragon and you can send me requests if you want.


	5. Mundane

Clark fiddles with the silver plated fork. Bruce has nothing to say. What can he say?

_We’ll work it out._

_Batman can help you._

Both responses are trivial and would not aid the broken man sitting in Bruce’s kitchen.

Alfred, again bless him, alleviates the tension with a distinct cough.

                “Master Richard, I do believe you’ve brought a guest with you.”

Dick comes out of his stupor.

                “Dammit. Right. Uh, kid, new kid,” he says and scrambles to get up.

It is a testament that Bruce is tired, for he did not check the sensors for extra body heat indexes. Clark not included. He is sure the man had flown here and landed gently. Clark takes a bit of the orange slices and mixes it with the fried egg.

                “Mr. Kent,” Alfred says. “I apologize for your host’s reticence, but you must understand this appearance as shock. For now, would you like a beverage?”

                “Yes, please. Some tap water.”

There’s a shake in his voice. Batman had heard it when Diana and Allen visited Clark at the diner. The shake radiates in his movements as well. Bruce sees it. Alfred places the glass of water with cucumber next to Clark. Slowly, he lifts the delicate juice cup to his lips. Sips and lowers carefully; Bruce observes it and the shake is still there.

_God, you’re beautiful._

That response will earn him the morgue.

Dick returns with Timothy Drake.

                “Wha….”

                “Shh.” Dick smiles and Clark turns in his seat. “Bruce, this is Tim. He says he wants to be the next Robin. And _he_ knows _you_ know where Batman is. And he figured out the previous Robins’ identities.”

                “Where did you hear this?” Bruce says. He gulps because his throat is dry and sips his decaf.

                “Easy. If you watch enough old footage of them fighting and cross reference it with different styles you can make a field of possible candidates. And then, I figured out Robin’s unique style and saw how it changed when the suit went to someone else. To be honest, if it wasn’t for the first Robin’s gymnastic abilities I would’ve taken longer.”

Dick’s lip twitches. Clark hums and looks at Tim. Tim backs a little behind Dick.

                “I was in Bludhaven with my aunt because my dad’s in a coma. I found Dick—”

                “Officer Grayson to you.”

                “—and snuck in his apartment. I have skills. I took up gymnastics and some kung fu. I can be the new Robin with smarter brains.”

Dick rolls his eyes. The situation would be comical if not for the hesitance in Tim’s eyes when he looks at Clark.

                “Are….” Tim breathes and comes forward. He stands in front of Clark as he finishes his plate. “Are you really him?” Tim asks. “Superman?”

                “No,” Clark says. “Just a homeless man. Thanks for the meal, Alfred.”

                *

Bruce runs out and the wet grass soaks up his slippers.

                “Clark, dammit, wait!”

The man stops. Bruce gets in front of him.

                “You don’t just drop like that on someone. You don’t just call me weeks ago, show up on my porch, and fucking disappear. What happened? The League was supposed to get in touch with you.”

                “They did and….” Clark’s face recoils in anguish. “I can’t okay. I can’t do it again.  Do you understand?” Bruce backs a bit. Clark steps forward and grabs his robe’s sleeve. “I’ve always been different. My whole life. And then it turns out I’m an alien, which explains a bit. Not enough. This…what happened to me. For a while I could pretend. I could be just Clark Kent. But, no, I never was and I can’t pretend. I can’t be anything right now. I need…I need to stop.”

He leans into Bruce’s chest and tremors rake through him. Bruce pulls him close. He fits. Clark fits with him very well.

                “You’re the only one who knows me now. I’m sorry for being a jackass, I am. I shouldn’t ask anymore from you, but I don’t have anyone else. J’onn said you’d let me stay with you.”

                *

An adjustment period takes place. Tim moves in with Bruce taking up guardianship until his dad recovers. Another PR stunt for Brucie Wayne. Tim takes to training like Dick. He is boastful and says he can do better with Bruce’s weapons, but Bruce has Alfred and Dick when he is there, start on basics. He is impressed though when Tim upgrades the cave’s security systems. He will have to bring him to the Watchtower to talk with Victor.

Clark spends his first week existing. Bruce has Alfred make up the guest room and Clark does not comment on the fact that “storage” for his things is the guest room. And the house. Bruce has to own taking a dead man’s possessions. After the first week, Clark begins to do things. And Bruce secretly loves it.

Clark helps Alfred cook every meal. And he makes his own breakfast.

                “I like my eggs slimy.”

The eggs are barely cooked and still have grease on them.

Clark also takes up the outside chores, which means the gardener who comes once a month has little to do and says so to Alfred. Clark offers to find the man another job, but he smiles and says this was more a favor to Alfred than work. Clark takes over the landscape, even Alfred’s vegetable patch. Bruce is a bit envious of that one because Alfred told him in British terms that the vegetables are _his_ alone.

Clark’s things disappear from the usual spots in the house and migrate to his room. The books and albums are gone from the small living space. His journal was among the boxes that Bruce had put away months ago when he stopped lying to himself.

The missing things were not an insult. They belonged to Clark. However, to not see the sun-damaged Thoreau paperback or have the Debussy album with the scratches, almost made it lonely. Odd to think a ghost occupied the space fully than the man living.

The epiphany hit Bruce one day after being gone the night before. Clark was up, bright as day, with Alfred sitting next to him. Tim was on the phone playing some game. Bruce did not allow him yet to go out at night. There was a place for Bruce. His coffee and a plate of egg whites and avocado sitting in wait. The scene was mundane. Bruce felt his heart speed up.

Clark was alive and in his house. Clark had taken his things back to maybe one day move along. Bruce wanted him to be permanent, like this scene, just there with him, Alfred, Tim, and Dick.

Maybe it was the stress of last night (Riddler had gotten more sadistic as age took him) or the revelation, but Bruce felt his knees go weak and met the floor.

                *

                “….perfectly fine. Master Wayne hasn’t had the healthiest of hobbies in his youth and now they plague him from time to time.”

                “Like spelunking.”

                “Precisely. Drinking too.”

                “Yeah.”

                “Mr. Kent, do you have something on your mind?”

                “Nothing I can’t just say out loud. Get some rest, I’ll stay with him.”

                *

Bruce wakes again fully and sees Clark reading his English-Spanish poetry collection.

                “I like Lorca. He had a beautiful sense of imagery in both languages.” Clark closes the book. “You never asked me how I knew where you live. Or who J’onn is.”

                “I didn’t want to impose,” Bruce grumbles.

                “Mm-hm, you don’t seem the type. J’onn’s been communicating with me since he and the League came to visit. We talk a lot. Haven’t for the last few weeks. He said that the others started to worry because it looked like he was drifting off. He kept me up to date on things and we talked. He…can empathize a little with what I’m going through.”

                “He’s the green one, right?” Bruce smirks.

It dies when Clark bristles.

                “Please, Bruce. Don’t try that act on me. You’ve shown your hand too many times. I know you’re more involved with the League than being their sugardaddy or Batman’s keeper. I figure you’ve supplied him with his gear for years and that maybe he’s like a bodyguard for you. That you help him, which is why you and Alfred were stealing info from Lex the night we met. So, you’re not vapid and definitely not a playboy.”

Bruce huffs.

                “Not in the last few years, kid,” he says. “This bed’s been broken in thoroughly.”

Whether he was expecting a blush or laugh Bruce is not sure. Clark does turn pink, but he rises from the chair and sits on the bed. Clark turns and comes up to Bruce and straddles him. Bruce gulps.

                “I’m no virgin nor country bumpkin. I’ve had a short list of relationships and companions, but it’s still a list. And I’m not a stranger to men.”

Bruce gulps again and for the first time he is heated around Clark. The love has been present disastrously so, but the lust had been kept at bay. Clark still has the beard, but it is neatly trimmed. Bruce is trapped.

                “I like you. I like you a lot.” Clark says. The shake is back. “Lois and I…we’re done. I won’t ask her to take me back and she doesn’t want to. I don’t blame her.” Clark places both hands on each side of Bruce’s face. “J’onn’s implied you might like me too.”

_“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. I love you. Please stay with me. Please don’t go away. Please.”_

Clark’s thumbs rub circles on Bruce’s cheeks.

                “I’m not going anywhere for a while. Maybe go back to Smallville and check on mom. J’onn keeps inviting me to the Watchtower, so I got to get in touch with Batman again. Apologize to Diana and Barry.” He says this softly, the shake present. “Bruce,” and how he says it makes Bruce shiver. “Before any of this happens, before I can do this, I need to know: do you like me?”

                “Can’t you tell,” Bruce says as the shivers wreck him and he wants to reach out and hold Clark.

                “I hear your heart. I feel your body. I can…guess at some….but I want to know. I want to hear the words.”

                “Yes. Oh God, yes,” Bruce gasps. He struggles, but he finds purchase and brings Clark closer.

Clark holds him and they turn in the bed, legs entwined, until they are on their sides.

                “Why haven’t you kissed me?” Bruce asks.

Clark sighs and Bruce feels him deflate. He hates it.

                “I’m still not in a good place, Bruce. I have a lot of shit in my head and it screws with me. My powers are haywire. I’m…I’m so afraid I’ll hurt someone. You can feel it, right? The way I’m holding you.”

Bruce can; Clark’s arms are around him (finally), but they are hovering and the embrace is limp. Same with his legs.

                “You’re afraid of losing control.”

_A split tractor. Crops blowing away._

“I know it happens. I’ve seen it. Batman maybe told you. I want to make sure that when we continue what’s happening now,” Clark leans over and nuzzles Bruce’s neck. Bruce feels his heart flutter. He grins at that as Clark starts to sniff him. “Mmm, same soap I use. Sorry. I want better hold of my powers and if you don’t mind, I would like to date you.”

                “Date me? You’re living with me,” Bruce says.

He sighs contentedly when Clark’s lips brush his neck.

                “Yes, but honestly Bruce, I barely know you. Besides what the papers said and the tragedy from your past, I don’t really have much knowledge of you. God, if I didn’t bug Alfred to let me help cook, I wouldn’t know you’re favorite food...”

                _Tomato and mayo sandwiches._

Clark hums then Bruce hums.

                “I like you. I really like you. I want to do more right now. So much more,” Clark says.

The thing bumping on Bruce’s thigh tells him the truth. He can feel his face turn puce and his thing bumping Clark’s thigh.

                “You need time. And you want to know me,” Bruce whispers.

                “Yes. If you’ll have me.”

                “There’s no if. Yes. Yes to everything.”

Bruce smiles feeling weightless at the moment. Clark brings his head up and smiles with teeth so perfect. Bruce leans and Clark leans. They kiss.

* * *

 

Bruce has not slept. Fainting tends to make him more awake. Clark, however, dozes off and on. Alfred has not come to bother them, neither has Tim. Some light snacks were left for them and bottled water. Bruce smirks. God bless his butler.

Clark stirs and Bruce burrows into the man’s chest.

                “You didn’t sleep.”

                “Nope.”

                “Hm. A man’s been rummaging through the garbage. Told me he does it to everyone. His girlfriend got the drop on me before I could do anything.”

                “That’s Question and Huntress. They’re not so bad. Dick complains about them more because they sneak into his apartment and steal his food.”

                “For a cop, he’s not well prepared.”

                “He has an unhealthy happy outlook. Never thinks the worst of people despite what’s happened.”

                “I do too,” said Clark. “I’m a little maudlin now, but that’s the shit in me. Though, pretty certain it won’t go away.”

                “Just make sure to not lose yourself.”

                “Lose myself.”

                “For a while….it seemed like you were never there. Like the man we buried was still in the grave.”

Clark is silent. His hand on top of Bruce tightens for the briefest second.

                “You were the first to see me. When I arose….that had to be strange.”

                “Downright terrifying.”

 _Clark, you’re dead and I’m falling in love with you_.

                “Did you hear anything? Before getting out of there…..”

                “No. It was like being underwater. Muffled. I didn’t know what I was doing. I said…I told Batman I wasn’t sure if I was really dead. It was like….you know when you’re bone deep exhausted and you fall asleep but still cling to the waking world.”

                “I do.”

                “It was like that. When I finally woke….it was muffled. I didn’t even know I grabbed you. The thing going through my head was home and mom. I became aware during the walk. I’m sorry for dragging you back on foot.”

                “It’s alright.”

They lapse into silence again.

                “Clark.”

                “Yes.”

                “Kiss me again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will make a sequel. I kinda have to and a small collection of one shots based on the league members and Jason and Roy Harper. I squeezed Question and Huntress in this chapter, just like I will squeeze Barbara and Gordon in the second to last chapter because I am adding another chapter to this. Also, I do know the origin of Red Robin but for the sake of AU I changed it to fit in this.


	6. Clark Kent vs. Superman: Christmas Special

                “Again!” thunders Diana.

Clark concentrates on the muscle and his heat vision bursts out. With effort, he attempts to lower the heat. Nonetheless, the metal target melts instantly. Clark stops and rubs the palms of his hands in his eye. He groans. This is unbelievable! Several weeks and he still cannot control his simplest powers.

Diana marches toward him and Clark internally flinches. The woman is a powerhouse and force of nature in one. She stands where the metal is cooling from the heat and tsks.

                “You will learn nothing from frustration,” Diana says. “How did you train? Shooting lasers from your eyes certainly did not appear one day….”

                “Actually, it did.” Clark scratches his head sheepish. His abilities arrived and he learned to hone them. Training them….not so much.

Diana’s displeasure shows in her risen brow.

                “Then you must practice the old way. Even in Themyscira we have not seen this unbridled power as you have. The techniques of your past just may be the solution.”

                “Yeah, but my powers had emerged. I didn’t have them and they worked too well—”

Clark shuts up with the glare Diana throws him.

                “Then do it in reverse.” Diana stalks to him and Clark gulps. “You have so much strength in you, Clark. Honing it is the only way to avoid disaster.”

Clark sighs. He knows. He knows that his powers are dangerous. And he knows that Batman insists he learn control again. But, there’s a block. It is like having a python compress his lungs. The tangible ebb and flow of his powers is just constricted in him. Clark looks at Diana.

                “I will try harder.”

                “Do harder.”

Clark nods. Diana gives him a smile.

                *

Tim sits at the coffee table typing on his laptop. Clark is watching the news reports on the role of the Justice League. Much of the talk is bias or neutral. It reminds him of the debates concerning his role.

                “They’re being stupid,” Tim says.

Clark glances and Tim types away.

                “About the League itself or the populace’s opinion of the League?”

                “Both. Take it or leave it, the League is here to stay. It’s needed and wanted. Just like Batman has been all these years.”

                “True. And yet, people will stay raise concerns. Quite a few founded and others imagined. You can’t control others actions or views.”

                “You can shape them,” Tim says.

                “And they can change instantly. Hm, this is not a clear cut issue. No matter what good is done, people will still have fear. The only thing we can do is control ours and be the bigger person.”

Tim stops typing.

                “You thinking of joining,” he says, wriggling his eyebrows.

Clark huffs and tousles the boy’s hair. Tim pouts, which he claims is a scowl, and fixes his hair.

                “No, I’m not very helpful now.”

                “Bruce would say otherwise,” Tim says, smirking.

Clark blushes. He and Bruce have been dating for a few weeks and Christmas will be coming soon. He has to get him something. Clark sighs and thinks of the dates.

Nothing elaborate, mostly walks on the grounds and a picnic. The few times Bruce allowed it, Clark flew him over the area. The first time the man flinched and held Clark for dear life. His cheeks were rosy once they had landed near a small ma’n’pa diner. Clark convinced him to share a root beer float with chocolate sprinkles. And each date ended with both of them in bed and cuddling.

Clark sighs content.

                “Pllleeeaaaseee, don’t tell me you’re thinking of doing my dad. Ew, gross. Disgusting.”

Clark jolts and sees Dick standing in the entryway with Bruce. Bruce flicks the bo—young man’s ear.

                “If that were the case, then you wouldn’t be here.”

                “Child in the room!” Tim says.

                “Back to your game. Yes, I know you were playing _Overwatch_.”

Quickly, Clark’s embarrassment fades as Bruce (gorgeous) comes over. Clark leans in and gives his boyfriend a soft kiss on his lips. It feels better without his hobo-beard as Tim called it.

                “Mm-hm, what I needed,” Bruce says.

                “Boring day.”

                “Obviously. My new PA ruined the schedule, again, and I spent the afternoon fixing it. I would have been home three hours ago if not for that.”

Clark leans for another kiss and embraces the man. Bruce’s body is hard-sculpted like Clark’s, but he cannot resist to find the man so soft and cozy. He likes snuggling with Bruce. Those dates when they stay in the house and watch Netflix Clark has Bruce on his side and holds him close. His heart beat is steady and banishes any doubts Clark has about this relationship. He is still messed up and knows Bruce can do better, if he tried, and then he sees the adoration in his man’s eyes. Clark reciprocates it and wonders if he truly loved Lois. It was not fair to die on her and yet he cannot stop thinking there was a reason. Maybe to be with Bruce? Or to aid Batman? He does not know.

                “Then let’s have an easy night in. Alfred’s out with an old friend and he left me in charge of dinner.”

                “Holy shit!”

                “Dick, language.”

                “My dad cursed like a sailor.”

                “Alfred’s NEVER let anyone be in charge. Never. Not even when I was a brat and Bruce gave me his chores. How’d you pull it off, Clark?”

                “I think I earned his trust in the kitchen,” Clark says. “Speaking of, how about some mac’n’cheese with hotdogs and peas and carrots? It’s easy, quick, and we can watch a movie together while we eat.”

                “Sure you want to take that risk?” Bruce asks, amused. “Alfred will murder you six ways ‘til Sunday if food mess gets on the couch.”

                “Don’t worry, my ma taught me sure-fire ways to clean up any stain.”

Bruce chuckles, throaty. Clark cannot stop from licking the man’s neck column.

                “She certainly-oh-knows some tricks,” Bruce says breathy.

                “Did I seriously leave a child exposed to this soft-core?” Dick says.

                “Shut up,” Bruce orders.

                “It’s not so bad.  At least I haven’t caught them in the act,” Tim says, returning to his _Overwatch._

* * *

 

The dinner is eaten as the action thriller, the boys won out on the pool, starts and Clark glances at Bruce. Batman will not be patrolling tonight. Clark knows that because Dick is here and he will be taking Tim with him. Clark takes a huge bite with everything and remembers when he met Batman again.

 

* * *

 

He did not see it. Yes, Bruce had a bigger role than he led on with Batman and the Justice League, but honestly, Clark was only human. Psychologically. So, he was fooled too by the misdirection of Brucie Wayne, and then Batman’s modulated mysterious mask.

His memories of that night were still blurry. At one point he did recall ripping the heavy mask in half, but it had been dark and Kryptonite screwed his sight first before anything. Really, no one could blame him for not seeing the resemblance first.

Clark had felt something familiar about the handsome man he grabbed from his…waking up. And more each time he saw Bruce; Batman was the same.

However, Clark is a wreck, even now, and he had trouble recognizing Pete Ross at IHOP that one time.

In both cases he heard the two men’s heart beats and that is gave it away.

                *

Clark stands on the rooftop of the GCPD. He awaits Batman in a Halloween costume of his suit. Bruce had it handy because his old one has not been repaired. Clark would rather it stay that way. He leans on the wall and counts the stars he can see. Gotham would have a lovely view of Sagittarius tonight if not for the fog. Clark traces the constellations with his fingers to pass the time until he hears footsteps.

He vanishes to another roof and watches who comes up.

A man with grey-white hair opens the door. He sports a trench coat and fedora. Oddly enough, he resembles the chief from _The Gray Ghost_ on TVLand. Clark smiles; Batman’s m.o. fits seamlessly with that character. The man sighs and keeps the door open. A girl is wheeled through by a gruff looking man in greasy shirt and a woman who looks professional and young.

                “Thanks for letting me come,” says the girl. She has vibrant red hair and a confidence that Clark has seen in those who suffered great hardships. “I know you don’t like me here, but I was curious.”

                “Its fine, Barbara,” the man says. He pats the girl and Clark sees a resemblance in them. Father and daughter. “Just don’t think this is a social call.”

                “Yep. Meeting freaks is the highlight of any occasion,” mutters the greasy man.

                “Bullock, you’ve done you’re part. Now stay, be civil, or leave.”

Bullock huffs and heads down.

                “Montoya, you coming!”

The woman smiles small and waves.

                “Call us if needed, Commissioner.”

Clark hums. The Commissioner, Gordon he thinks, turns on a huge light. Clark gasps. It’s the Bat Signal. He had seen it…….Clark crunches the bit of concrete under his hands. For a spell, his vision is spotty. How is it that the man who killed him gives little alarm and yet his symbol give Clark pause?

He straightens himself. If the two people there are with Batman then Clark has to trust they know of him. With great hesitance, Clark floats to the other roof. Barbara gasps in her chair and Gordon pulls out his firearm. He lowers it upon seeing Superman.

                “Commissioner Gordon,” Clark nods. His body feels restrained as he glides down and lands a few feet away. He shaved this morning to look more like Superman. He looks like an imposter.

                “Yes,” says the man.

The girl, young woman, stares.

                “You’re real,” she whispers.

Someone lands and the three turn to see Batman. Clark looks at him and listens. Batman comes close and Clark can hear his heart beat. Steady. Controlled. Rapid now. Batman looks up at Clark. He smirks.

                “You look better without the beard.”

Batman’s heart skips a bit. It skips at the same rhythm of Bruce’s. Clark freezes for a moment. He then catches himself and says, “Wanted to show you I’m not crazy.”

*

 

“I’m freaking out!”

“Clark, please calm yourself. Your mind is racing.”

“You can feel that? Of course you can. Just Bruce is Batman. The guy I’m dating tried to kill me. The guy I think might be more—”

“Stop there. I believe some thoughts should be kept secret.”

“Did you know?”

“Do not be angry. Batman wanted to keep it secret.”

“Why?”

“Belief that you will prefer one personality over the other. Your first encounters as civilians did not fair well. Batman wanted to keep you close. So, a convoluted plan to keep Bruce Wayne separated from Batman.”

“But, someone would have told me.”

“No. We signed a legal document. Green Arrow and Black Canary are not aware, although they suspect.”

“Fuck.”

“Clark, what do you to do with this information?”

“J’onn what the hell do I do?”

“              “

“J’onn?”

“Let him come to terms with this. Your resurrection came at a vulnerable time for him.”

“What does that mean? J’onn. J’onn? J’onn! Dammit! What does that mean? I can’t remember anything and Bruce was there at my grave. I don’t remember anything. I woke up and climbed out. Did he say something? J’onn! Please, too much has happened. I need a straight answer. Please.”

“You care for Bruce. You trust him. Allow him time and yourself.”

                *

Clark returns to the lake house. Bruce is awake. He finds the man in his room lying down staring at the ceiling.

                “Where were you?” he asks.

Bruce turns to face Clark. He is wearing his robe. Clark’s second belated epiphany is that he has never seen Bruce shirtless.  Makes sense; Batman has had his share of stabs and broken bones.

                “Seeing him,” Clark starts. “In front of the Bat Signal. It just…uh, got to me. I saw spots for a second. Minor panic attack.”

Bruce gets up and comes to him. He grabs Clark’s hands. He puts his thumbs on Clark’s pulse points.

                “I’m sorry,” Bruce whispers. “I should’ve known that would bother you. You mentioned seeing it once…”

Clark hears his heart beat. It’s steady, so Bruce is calculating.

                “Not like a preexisting condition. I’m handling this better than most men. PTSD doesn’t bother me if I can’t remember two thirds of it.”

Bruce exhales and closes his eyes.

                “That’s not good. I’d suggest therapy…”

                “Dead men don’t talk to shrinks. They’ll probably need one afterwards.”

Clark smiles to alleviate the tension in Bruce’s face. His face unmasked still has the strong jaw and fuzzy cheeks. His pale pink lips. Clark embraces Bruce and smells the crook of his man’s neck. 

                “This is uncharted territory for everyone. You don’t –you can’t have the answers. Batman is fallible as is Wonder Woman. An alien who reads minds is unsure. So….Bruce.” Clark lets go and pulls Bruce away. He grabs the man’s face and rubs his cheeks. The slight height difference allows Clark to look in his man’s eyes as Bruce looks down. “What may come, just roll with it; we have time. Batman agreed to allow me access to the tower without joining. Diana offered training and I think J’onn would like to talk face to face. Don’t let the world weigh you down. Just be with me. Please.”

Clarks bumps his forehead to Bruce’s. Bruce sighs heavily.

                “Let’s get some sleep,” he says.

                “And cuddle,” Clark says, smiling.

He’s won for now.

* * *

 

Clark looks at Bruce. The man is sound asleep without the pills. Bruce has slept more since Clark started sharing his bed. Tomorrow they will hear of Nightwing on the news maybe or Dick will report to Bruce. Clark shuffles closer and Bruce burrows himself in Clark’s arms. J’onn was right, he knows that. Though, he wishes Bruce will tell him. Until then, he has the man here with him.

                *

The Question is back.

                “Hello,” says Clark. He holds today’s trash.

                “Greetings, Superman,” he says. He returns to rummaging in the garbage. “Sorry for the intrusion, but I am here to deliver a message to you.”

                “No problem. You want this.” Clark gestures to the trash bag.

The Question’s blank mask gives no output, but Clark can feel the deadpan look on the man’s face.

                “Funny. This is from another spaceman. Not an alien.”

Question hands Clark a note with green glowing ink.

                _Meet me at Gotham Bay_

_-A Friend (GL)_

                “Would it be intrusive to ask who GL is?”

                “No, but I don’t have his name yet. Green Lantern is his organization. Ask your resident Martian about them.” Question stops and whistles. An engine roars nearby and a woman in purple zips toward them.

                “Wait—”

They are gone. Huntress and Question zoom away leaving Clark alone with ominous feelings about this.

                *

                “J’onn claims them to be a sort of peace corp. with military training. I don’t know. But, this stuff isn’t Kryptonite and Cyborg has found sightings of a green lighted man floating somewhere in the Midwest. What do you think?”

Bruce has his fingers in a steeple over his chin. In this moment, Batman and Bruce Wayne are together.

                “He didn’t why he would give you the note. And that he didn’t know the man’s real name.”

                “Yes,” Clark says. Rhetorical statements, but he was raised to answer when asked or not.

                “Must be a big fish,” Bruce says. Tim listens aptly from his seat in the library. “It means that Question trusts, loosely, this man. And that he’s probably human if J’onn says that the Green Lantern takes all species as members. It explains why he hasn’t shown up on any radar because he already blends in.”

Bruce gets up from his chair and looks out the wall-window. Clark keeps calling them that, even though it’s a little redundant. The light seeps through from the lake’s reflection and brightens the rooms. It is a contrast to Bruce’s other life.

                “Go there, but bring a tracker and bug. Batman will listen in,” Bruce says.

                “You don’t think the Lantern guy will notice,” Clark says.

                “No. He wants you to trust him. And he might have information we need.”

                *

The bay smells like the old plants in Metropolis before the factories switched to robotic labor. Dank, wet, and full of death. Clark bristles when he lands. Again, he wears the costume because he has nothing else. He is not sure if super smell is a thing, but he does have better olfactory than most; it is awful.

The bug is under his shirt and the tracker hidden under his boot. Clark awaits a sign of anyone or a green luminance. The winds pick up and the cloth cape flies over Clark’s head.

                “Fuck,” he says.

Clark struggles with the cloth and gets caught in it. Eventually, he uses his strength and tears the fabric off his body. The top back half of his shirt goes along too.

                “Great. Great. Great.”

                “Well, if it’s great, than what’s bad?” a voice chuckles.

Clark looks to his left and a man stands there. A green glow seems to emanate from his being and his eyes are an unearthly shade of green. His black and green suit covers him and a symbol of a lantern adorns his chest.

                “Green Lantern,” Clark says.

                “John Stewart to most. And you’re Superman, a.k.a, Clark Kent.”

Clark stiffens.

                “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in your story.”

                “What are you interested in?”

                “Superman’s return. The Guardians say you can’t just give up on this. They’ve been in debates for months on how to approach you. I got fed up with it and decided to call you out. Took a while. Even went to Kansas first. Point is, you can’t just hide from the world forever. There’s gonna be more attacks from other, less friendly planets. I’ve seen them. Earth has to have Superman.”

Clark stares at this stranger. This man who knows more of the universe than most of the human race.

                “You’re wrong. The earth needs me only _if_ there’s another Doomsday. Or Zod. The world sees me as some god. It’s bullshit. I’m just another weapon to anyone with power. I’m a threat to safety and security. Really, I’m only good for the final battle. Otherwise, I’m better off dead.”

John laughs.

                “You see. You hear yourself. That’s the same kinda arrogant self-loathing that got Rayner killed. But, you know what, _Supe_ rman.” John stalks to him. They face off. “You are not the last resort. You’re the only resort if this shit hits hard. Because even Oa and the corp. can’t stop what comes next.”

                “What does?”

                “I don’t know. This crap happens in threes.” John steps back. He floats and Clark notices his ring.

                “You should contact the League. They’ll need this information.”

                “Fuck you, _Super_ man.”

He flies off.

                *

Clark walks the Gotham streets alone. Batman allows it for the time being. Clark wears a trench coat to hide his costume. He should’ve brought a second pair; so much for foresight.

Christmas will be arriving in twelve days and Clark has yet to get anything for Bruce. Although, it seems as if Bruce does not notice. The house is bare of Christmas. A few fairy lights and a wreath over the hearth are all that adorn the lake house. Tim does not notice. Dick seems to find it normal.

Clark sighs. He trudges down the sidewalk and watches the cars go by. Even the dirty Gotham has more cheer than Bruce’s house. Lamps covered in greenery and red bows. Colored lights. Santas and Jesus all around.

The small plastic twig at home depresses him a bit. Mom will not say anything when she comes to visit, but Clark wishes Bruce would get a few more decorations. The presents are ample. All for Dick and Tim.

Clark stops.

A whimper.

He goes into the alley.

Behind a garbage dump tiny whimpers resonate. Clark lifts the dump and sees a small lump wiggling. The mud and slush of the snows cover it. The whimpers increase as the lump is aware of Clark’s presence.

                “Shh,” Clark says. “I won’t hurt you. See.”

Clark puts his hand out flat. The lump moves and Clark sees floppy ears. It’s a malnourished puppy. The pup sniffs wearily and licks Clark’s fingers. He had some chips from a convenience store earlier. The poor thing must be starving. Gently, with restraint, Clark picks the pup from the muddy slosh. He puts the dump down carefully. The pup yips and whimpers into his hand.

                “You’re way too little to be anything but a lab or maybe a bull terrier. Would you like a home?”

The puppy yips and chews a bit on Clark’s thumb.

                “Good because you’re Bruce’s present.”

For a time, Clark has no blocks or threats. He is just a man walking on the sidewalk with an abandoned puppy for Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long because it is in Clark's p.o.v. I know John Stewart comes off as a jerk, but he's trying to get Clark back in the game. And the Guardians did this on purpose: sending John to provoke Superman out of hiding. Last chapter will be super short epilogue.   
> P.S. I don't smut, so if you are hoping for sex scenes in this universe there will be none. Ever.


	7. Epilogue: Evil Ahead

“Aw,” coos Tim.

                “Clark?”

                “I found him after my walk.”

                “Please, can we keep him,er, her…”

Bruce crosses his arms. Clark smirks. So much like Batman.

                “She’s for you,” Clark says.

Bruce’s cheeks pink. He looks at the tiny Doberman puppy that has been cleaned and fed small bits of ground beef from Alfred. Clark walks toward him. He places his hands on Bruce’s shoulders.

                “She needs a home. A scrappy little survivor with cuteness,” Clark says, smiling.

                “That is awful. The way you said it,” Bruce says. He relaxes his arms.

                “I brought her for you. Her fate, to stay here or be adopted by a good family, is in your hands.”

Clark kisses Bruce’s forehead. And then his nose. Each cheek. Bruce pulls him in for a full kiss.

                “Guys! We have a baby now. No kissing.”

Bruce glares at Tim. The intensity falters with his dilated eyes and kiss swollen lips.

                “She can be a guard dog,” Clark says.

                “You’re shit-eating grin sucks, Kent,” Bruce says.

Clark’s won; whenever Bruce uses “Kent” it is his last resort before giving in and Clark sees the sparkle of joy in his man’s eyes while looking at Tim cooing the puppy.

                “We’ll need a vet. She’s way too small for a Doberman pup.”

                “We’re keeping her,” Tim shouts.

                “Yes, but she’s everyone’s responsibility. So,” he says turning to Clark. “We all take care of her. Play with her and walk her.”

                “And I name her. Leaning toward Hermione or Arwen—”

                “I name her. She’s my present.”

Clark chuckles and hugs Bruce close.

                “I knew you’d like her.”

                “Shut it,” Bruce says. “Ace. Her name is Ace.”

Tim scrunches his nose. He looks at the puppy.

                “Oh, wait. Made a mistake. It’s a boy. Yep I see its…thing dangling.”

Clark laughs. Bruce joins him. The moment is too precious not too.

* * *

 

In a hole in the ground under sewage and the light of the earth, Luthor hums an old tune. His hair has grown in patches and it is likely will never be its lustrous self again. Mercy can shave it and make it tasteful. He smiles at the man across from him at the table. The man looks back with dark eyes.

His permanent smile does not deter Luthor’s.

                “Mr. Joker, your patience is greatly needed for this plan to work. My scientists already have the necessary parts. Some trial and error is, of course, expected. I am assured it won’t take more than a few years.”

The man, Joker, plays with his switch blade. Behind, Mercy stands a few feet away from the Harlequin clown who smiles too brightly.

                “Batsy’s not on to me. Thinks I’m still in Arkham. But, oh you.”

Joker rises switch blade gleaming in the dim light.

                “You tried to kill his beau. You tricked him. Screwed with his head.” Joker growls the last sentence. “We don’t appreciate that.”

The blade touches Luthor’s head.

                “Stop, Mercy. Let my guest finish what he has to say.”

The blade is cold as it scrapes Luthor’s skull. Joker grins madly. Bits of fuzzy red fall off and on Luthor’s second best suit. More come down as the Joker almost tenderly shaves him.

                “I could put my name here. Then everyone will know Bats and Joker own your ass. But, that’s not my style.”

                “What did you mean?” Luthor asks.

                “Batsy has the hots for Supes. Even if he’s dead or alive. You know that too smarty pants.”

Joker grabs Luthor’s chin.

                “He’s in love and not losing his chance again. If you break him, do it with Superman. Having a child with someone else does put strain on relationships.”

The smile on Harley Quinn fades slightly.

                “And you, well, you get Supes attention. That’s all you want. Attention whore,” Joker says.

Luthor’s lip twitches and he pushes out of the grip.

                “You and I are in the same vein. Kindred even…”

Joker leans in snarling.

                “NO! Batman and I are kindred. You’re just some poor daddy’s boy who didn’t get love. And the alien is what you wish you were.”

                “Powerful,” Luthor whispers.

                “No, revered. Beloved. Beautiful.”

Each word the Joker brings his hands closer to Luthor’s throat.

                “You know how I got these scars?” The switch blade touches Luthor’s face. Fighting begins in the background. “Batman did. Batman gave these scars before and after I met him. He even kicked out my teeth after I killed one of his little birdies. But I got new pearls. See.”

The row of golden plated teeth are shown.

                “Nice, eh? Cost a man his arm and leg, plus the dentist’s wife.”

Joker lets go and returns to his seat. Mercy quickly limps to Luthor’s side.

                “I can get the others. It won’t be hard. And the goods better be worth it.”

The pale skin stretches with the scar tissue. Joker gets up and snaps his finger. Harley squeaks and goes with him, despite her own bruises.

                *

                “I’ll have to pay him for this,” Luthor says as he looks in his cell’s mirror. “He didn’t do a bad job with the cut. Though, with his greasy mop, I imagine some of its purposeful. However, my plans are in motion. And God will once again kneel to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated the character look of Joker and Harley Quinn in Suicide Squad even though I liked the movie. So, for Joker, I have him as Heath Ledger's costume with the pale skin from the acid vat instead of stage make-up. Same for Harley Quinn, but she wears her costume from Batman: The Animated Series. And I liked Jessie Eisenberg's portrayal of Lex Luthor because it was like an homage to Gene Hackman's Luthor who was considered campy and eccentric to the comics in the 1978 film. So, I kept this Luthor image because it is different from the cartoons and I thinks fits in this universe.   
> Lastly, the second part of the chapter is told from third person objective.

**Author's Note:**

> I will say that I have never read a DC comic in my life. Everything I know about DC is from the animated shows and Wikipedia. So, if you are a hard core fan, don't read this. I did see the movie.


End file.
